


The Unwelcome Guest

by endlessnightlock (Endlessnightlock)



Series: One Night Stands (aka One-Shot Collection) [7]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Cannon compliant, Depression, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endlessnightlock/pseuds/endlessnightlock
Summary: Katniss feels the sadness creeping up on her; Peeta offers comfort.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: One Night Stands (aka One-Shot Collection) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001196
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	The Unwelcome Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little cannon-compliant drabble that I posted on Tumblr. I liked it enough to move it over here as well.

It was dark and late, and she’d pulled herself into herself again. She sat curled and perched in the corner of a chair with a blanket around her shoulders- beneath the throw; her hair lay loose. When she maneuvered into place, some of the strands had managed to lodge themselves between her hip and the chair. When she shifted direction, it pulled at the roots.

She repeated the motion. Intentionally. Repeatedly.

The small pain helped keep her there- inside their home in the former Victor’s Village, where he lies asleep in their bed- in this place where she’s not alone or lost inside her mind. That sharp pinch of skin pulling from her skull reminds her she’s alive. The pain and guilt have grown quieter throughout the years. Their place in her life has been displaced by the act of living because others could not.

Pain and it’s grounding were welcome companions during that time when her skin, what was hers yet not all hers, was still healing the same as her mind; before her body became a conglomeration of skin and scars and ridges. Back then, she would curl in a form much the same as the one she held now, making a tight ball of herself so that she could feel those sensations of _pressure_ and _tugging_ and _pulling_ as if she could rip herself apart at the seams and start over again.

Neither the pain in her body nor the need to be grounded by it called to her so loudly of late. There were more good days than bad. Still, the black thoughts lingered in the shadows; they lie in wait like an unwanted companion she’d done her best to avoid.

She heard steps approaching behind her then, uneven and loud enough in the stillness of the nighttime hour to pull her out of her haze. Peeta was up.

“Katniss?” She turned her head, their eyes meeting in the semi-darkness of the room. “Do you want some company?” he continued, moving further into the room towards her, his hands sliding inside the pockets of his pajama bottoms. She’s was wearing his shirt. She’d slipped it on after they made love earlier in the evening, desperate and needy and seeking comfort from him, a reprieve from what she knew was coming. Why was it she always felt the blackness approaching like a thunderstorm with its twinges behind her eyes and the pain that settled into her foot but remained helpless to stop it?

Her eyes lingered on him- he looked warm and comfortable, and she did want him there, so she nodded in answer. It wasn’t the kind of night where she wanted to talk. He knew her well enough by now. She sat up on her knees until he settled in the chair behind her, and then she climbed right into his lap. His hand moved to cradle the side of her head, and he pulled her to rest against him. 

“Nightmare?” he asked, his lips brushing the place on her scalp where she’d hurt herself just a moment ago (but could it any of it be considered pain after the things they’d both endured before?), his voice quiet and thick with sleep. 

She shook her head, _no_. There hadn’t been any one thing; she’d simply woken up to find the melancholy had caught up with her in the middle of the night. The signs had been building for days, a string of quietly good days that led into yesterday where she’d felt too happy, a sure sign that the drop-off was coming.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked softly.

Another shake of the head from her. _No_.

A few moments of quiet. They listened to the clock tick. Tick-tock. 

“Are you ready to come back to bed with me?” he asked finally, invitingly.

This time her head made one quick forward motion. “Yes,” she whispered, lifting her arms to wrap around his neck. 

In a move they’d perfected from years of use, he slid one arm under her knees while the other supported her back. She clung tightly to him as he stood with her in his arms. He carried her back to bed, climbing in behind her once she was down. She turned onto the side, facing away from him, and he closed the distance between them. He held her spoon-style, her back to his front because she was too lost to do any of the holding herself.

In the morning, she’d feel a little better. He would bring them both toast and tea and join her under the covers again. If she wanted him to stay, he would stay.

She almost always wanted him to stay.

  
  
  
  



End file.
